


The Arms of A Fallen Angel

by Subtlety Lost (fishstic)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Commissioned, Depression, F/F, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, and it will eventually be fluffy, depictions of:, have their problems and I love them very much, it has a good ending, it's kind of fluffy at points in a sad way, mentions of alters, my children who are both like a lot older than me, okay look, unreality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-15 23:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11816676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishstic/pseuds/Subtlety%20Lost
Summary: Angela never wanted to like anyone. It was much safer to be alone, nothing could hurt you like that. Or, that's what she thought. But being a doctor, one who was also a combat medic and spent time with Doctors Without Borders, had a way of hurting people that no medicine could ever heal.Fareeha's never really understood quite how she feels about Angela. Remembering her love for Angela as nothing more than a childhood crush, in their years apart she'd almost forgotten the doctor. But for a soldier, one who's been to hell and back, the past doesn't always stay in the past, and things forgotten resurface in unexpected ways.





	1. Angela: Mourning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GayWarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayWarden/gifts).



> If you haven't read the tags, please read the tags.  
> this work was commissioned by my girlfriend, if you want something yourself [here's the details.](http://subtletyislost.tumblr.com/post/162933988341/commission-post)

Office hours ended at 6pm, everyone knew that. They also knew that Angela rarely left the office before midnight, so in a real emergency you could still be seen. Angela disliked being disturbed. Being alone for so long wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was familiar. She shuffled papers around on her desk, hoping that today she could be alone.

There wasn’t actually much for her to do, it had been a slow week. Throughout the rest of the week she’d thrown herself headfirst into her work, skipping meals at times, because she wanted this day to end before she even realized it began. It hadn’t worked. She had hoped to work through it, to ignore it, to not think about it at all. It didn’t work. Today was the day. This day, 30 years ago, her parents had died. (She tried to ignore that Vati had died a year before Mueti; it was easier to remember them at the same time, to pretend they had died together, it’s what she thought they would want.)

The more she tried to ignore it, the more it taunted her, the more she cried. She hated it. More than crying she hated feeling so utterly helpless. Three decades she had lived without her parents. Three decades she’d cried over them. She wished the sadness would just stop. It wouldn’t. She used to think that she could change it, cheat death, if no one else left maybe she wouldn’t be so sad. It didn’t work. The sadness would never end, it couldn’t. She couldn’t leave them behind, not when she was the only one who remembered them.

The knock on her door was a lot quieter than she’d anticipated and that gave her pause. Made her wonder if she’d been hearing things. That, of course, would be the last thing she wanted as a doctor. It was only when it came again, slightly louder, that she pulled some tissues from the box on her desk, dried her eyes before calling out, “Yes?”

“May I come in, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela glanced up at the clock on the wall, 10pm. She sighed and shook her head. That was the Amari girl—Fareeha? Why was she here so late? She sounded so hesitant. “You may,” she replied professionally.

She stood up as Fareeha opened the door. Whatever the problem was, she would help with it. She needed to. A distraction. The shock, and perhaps true distraction, came when she turned around, and Fareeha was standing there not with an injury, but holding a pizza box and a candle.

“I apologize, Dr. Ziegler, if this is out of line,” Fareeha said. “But I noticed that you haven’t been eating much this week. My mother told me I should just leave you alone, but… I didn’t want you to go without. It’s your favorite.”

Angela nodded. Her mother. Did Fareeha even truly understand how lucky she was to be able to say that? How despite that luck they burned at Angela like the flame of a thousand failures? “And the candle?” She wasn’t sure she should ask. What could the answer be that would be anything other than painful?

“It’s a yahrzeit candle,” Fareeha replied.

Angela blinked. That was unexpected. A tradition she hadn’t been aware Fareeha knew she participated—used to participate—in. She’d been denying herself it for years. Telling herself the mourning did no good if she still failed to save lives. Telling herself that she wasn’t good enough for it anymore. Telling herself that if she was the only Jew she knew, then she didn’t have a right to participate in traditions that she could barely remember the reasoning for. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha began, fumbling to apologize already, before Angela had even reacted. “I was eleven, it was before…” there was a pause heavy with all the befores and regrets that could possibly have been meant. “You lit one of these, the same day as today. Mother said it was for your parents. I’m sorry, I should have asked first. You probably wanted to be alone—“

“Thank you,” Angela replied finally, cutting off any further apology that Fareeha might have offered. She didn’t need an apology, not when all Fareeha was trying to do was help. She walked over slowly, trying to put all her effort into seeming as forgiving and accepting as possible. The more she directed her attention elsewhere, the less likely it was that she’d start crying again.

There was a pause, silence, a thousand things hung on the air that she could have—probably should have—said as she took the candle gently from Fareeha’s hand. It was strange, she felt, to have someone else there. Everyone else ignored her. Left her alone. Today of all days, that was truer than usual and yet… And yet, here was Fareeha. Here, when she needed her most and wanted her least.

Angela stared at the candle as Fareeha cleared a place on the table for the pizza box.

Once it had been simple. Angela had watched Mueti light the yahrzeit, for _her_ mother. Mueti had cried. Had told Angela all about her mother. Had taught Angela to light a match. Had given her a candle too. Had lit it just for Vati. Then Mueti was gone. Cold arms and colder nights. Then Angela lit fires, not candles. Then there had been no one to help her when she dropped the match and burnt a hole in her skirt. She had been alone. Had cried when she lit the candle for Mueti as well as Vati. Had—

She started slightly when Fareeha touched her. Just a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly, but she hadn’t been expecting it.

“Dr. Ziegler, you’re trembling,” Fareeha said quietly. “Come eat first. You can light the candle when you’re more steady. It would be bad if you dropped a burning candle on your pants or paperwork.”

Angela didn’t reply in words, but allowed herself to be led over to the couch at the side of her office by the table. She wanted to argue with Fareeha. A surgeon’s hands never tremble. A surgeon never stumbles. But she doesn’t. Can’t bring herself to lie to Fareeha.

Mueti said never to lie to someone who was helping you. Mueti said never to lie to friends.

Silly as it probably was Angela listened to her mother, even now, thirty years after she’d died. Angela wasn’t sure that Fareeha qualified as a friend. Angela had blamed herself for Ana Amari’s death. Surely Fareeha did too? They couldn’t possibly be friends, Angela understood that. Who would want to be friends with the person they blamed for their mother’s death—even if that death turned out to be fake? But Fareeha was helping her, and that was why Angela wouldn’t lie to her.

“It’s okay,” Fareeha said as she took the candle from Angela’s hands and set it aside momentarily. “I know, it probably sounds dumb me, a simple soldier, telling this to you, a trained medical professional, but everyone mourns differently.” She rested her hand on Angela’s gently, a soft gesture of compassion.

Angela didn’t reply at first, her eyes down. She gave the impression that she was sad and considering the words—which she _was_ , but it also masked what _else_ she was doing—contemplating Fareeha’s hand on her own. _She’s touching me._ She wanted to say, ‘You’re more than a simple soldier’; she wanted to say, ‘It’s not dumb, everyone needs to be reminded of that sometimes’; she wanted to say, ‘Thank you’; she wanted to say, ‘You’re the first person to acknowledge this day with me in years’; she wanted to say a lot of things. She said, “I’m  sorry.” She said, “Can you please call me Angela? I don’t feel like a doctor right now.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Angela,” Fareeha replied. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and to deal with that alone.”

Angela nodded sadly. Of course Fareeha knew what it was like to deal with it alone. It was _her_ _fault_ that Fareeha had needed to do that. She should have been there.

“Angela please eat,” Fareeha said gently. “I know you’re sad, but that’s no reason to let the pizza go cold.”

Angela looked up for a moment, still aware of Fareeha’s hand on her own. Pizza could be good, at the very least she did need to eat so she’d stop shaking. Fareeha was right about that. It felt odd, a bit like failure, to have to be reminded that she needed to eat. Still, she reached over to the table and opened up the pizza box. Mushrooms and beef and a lot of cheese. Fareeha hadn’t been lying when she said that it was her favorite.

For a moment, she ate the pizza in silence. Fareeha not saying a word, just leaning back on the couch, waiting. Waiting for what, Angela wasn’t sure, but waiting nonetheless. It felt kind of nice, if she were to be honest, to have someone else here for once. She was so used to everyone ignoring her, outside of times they needed her, that she had forgotten what it was like to have someone there.

“For what it’s worth,” Fareeha said quietly, “I think your parents would be proud of you.” She was quiet for a moment seeming to consider her words very carefully before continuing, “I know I’m proud of you. And grateful for all the things you’ve done.”

Angela had to try hard _not_ to choke on her pizza when Fareeha said that. She sat down the slice she was eating, wiped off her hand with a paper towel from the roll that was sitting on the table before putting it against Fareeha’s forehead.

“Uhh… What are you doing, Angela?”  Fareeha asked.

“Checking to see if you have a fever,” Angela replied. “You just thanked me. No one does that.”

Fareeha took Angela’s hand away from her forehead gently. “I apologize for not thanking you earlier, or more often. The work you do is very important.”

Angela blushed at that but she wasn’t entirely sure why. She’d gotten compliments before but something about the way Fareeha said that gave her pause. It was sincere. Fareeha was being completely sincere. Angela tried to think of a response but none came.

Fareeha motioned toward the candle sitting beside the pizza box. “Whenever you’re ready. I have a lighter.”

Angela nodded. It had been so long since she had done this. It took all her effort not to let her hands tremble and betray how unsure she was about this. She was sure there was some important step that they were leaving out, some important thing that she couldn’t remember. Mueti had told her the importance of the candle once, told her why they light them, but for the life of her she could not remember. She couldn’t remember. Maybe that was the real reason she’d stopped doing it, she had forgotten why she was supposed to, why it was important, and that ashamed her more than the guilt of all the lives she couldn’t save.

She took the candle in her hands and held it steady. _What am I forgetting? Mueti, I’m sorry._ She wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for as Fareeha lit the candle for her. Perhaps for forgetting why the candle was important. Perhaps for not lighting the candle herself. Perhaps for forgoing the custom for so long. Perhaps, simply, for living.

She watched the flame of the candle dance in silence. She let the melting wax drip down over her fingers as she held the candle. The burning did hurt, but it was a minor pain, and she chose to let it ground her. It was okay to hurt sometimes. At least this time she wasn’t alone. She breathed in a steady rhythm watching the flame flicker with every breath out.

She felt the burning ache in her chest, she was, consciously or not, forcing herself not to cry. She wasn’t alone, but it probably would have been better if she was. A long time ago, she would have given anything for someone to care enough to be there for her. Now? Now, she wasn’t sure she deserved it. She wasn’t sure she deserved anyone there, much less Fareeha. Fareeha who had lost her mother once because Angela didn’t go on that mission. Fareeha who had every reason to hate her and yet somehow didn’t. Fareeha who—

A tissue pressed gently against Angela’s cheek, and for a brief moment she looked away from the candle to Fareeha who had retrieved the box of tissues from the desk and was drying her tears. There was only kindness and sympathy in Fareeha’s eyes. _I don’t deserve this._ She turned back to the candle trying to ignore all the feelings she could no longer understand until all that remained was the thought: _I don’t deserve this._

“Are you okay?” Fareeha asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Angela replied without hesitation. “I just feel like I shouldn’t be alive, but yeah, I’m fine.”

She didn’t realize she’d said that aloud until Fareeha replied, “Well I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Being…” she stopped before she even finished her thought. Fareeha didn’t need to hear this. They barely knew each other. It was something of a mistake to have let Fareeha stay. She should be alone; she _deserved_ to be alone. Having someone else there just made things complicated. She sighed and bit her lip, shaking her head slightly. “I promise, I’m fine.”

She was fine. She had to be fine. It was her job to hold everyone else together, how could she do that if she was falling apart? She stared at the candle still flickering in her hands. She was lying to herself and she was lying to Fareeha. It wasn’t right, but she had to do it. She couldn’t exactly just let Fareeha know what she was going through. There was no reason she should expect that Fareeha, or really anyone, would understand.

For a moment, Fareeha was completely silent. Angela was sure she’d upset Fareeha somehow, but that’s probably for the best. If Fareeha was mad at her maybe she’d stop asking questions, stop trying to help. Was that really what she wanted? To push away the only person trying to help her?

“Angie,” Fareeha began quietly.

 _Angie, darling it’s okay. Vati will be fine._ Angela bit her lip and shook her head. _“Angie it’s okay.”_ Angela bit her lip harder. The flame of the candle blurred in front of her eyes as tears fell from them. _“Angie.”_

The candle toppled out of her hand onto the pizza box, but Angela barely even noticed. _“Angie.” Mueti, es duet mr leid._

A hand pressed itself into Angela’s hair and she heard someone—Fareeha?—counting slowly. _Eins… zwei… drei… vier… funf… sechs…_ Angela took a deep breath and said, “sibe… acht… nüün.”

For a moment, they sat together just counting. Angela put her head against Fareeha’s shoulder, unsure of if that was even an okay thing to do. Her hands ached where the candle wax had dripped on them. She stopped counting and focused on the situation. Obviously, something had went wrong.

“Angela, I’m sorry,” Fareeha said, “for whatever I said that triggered that reaction.”

Angela blinked against Fareeha’s shoulder, staring down at her hand. The candle wax had dried on her fingers and cracked when she curled them. _Triggered?_ There was an interesting word, but it made sense, that reaction had hit her like a shot from a gun. Perhaps there was something to it. “You called me Angie,” she said quietly, “my Mueti was the only one who had ever done that.”

Fareeha nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How could you,” Angela said quietly. “I didn’t know myself.” She sat back still looking at her hands. “Neither of us knew I would react so badly.”

Fareeha nodded slightly. “What do you need me to do to help you?”

Angela took a breath and winced slightly. She licked her lip and could taste blood on the tip of her tongue. “I need to get the wax off my hands. There shouldn’t be burns, just minor irritation.”

“What about your lip?”

“It’ll be fine,” Angela replied. “I just need to clean it.” This was good. It was easy enough to give basic medical advice. “I dropped the candle!” she added with a shocked gasp.

“Yeah but don’t worry about it,” Fareeha said. “The flame went out before it hit the pizza box.”

Angela nodded then said very quietly, “My parents would not be proud to see me like this. This is the one thing I was supposed to continue doing, the one part of being Jewish the foster families never even tried to take away from me. How could they? What would they do, tell a young child she shouldn’t mourn her family the only way she knows how? Yet, I let one mistake, one bad call, cause me to stop doing it. By the time I remembered I was supposed to do it, I couldn’t remember how or why. I am very ashamed of this. I can’t just ask someone how to do it, I’m the only Jewish person I know. I shouldn’t have been able to screw this up, I mean… it’s just a candle, isn’t it? But I don’t know. I think we missed something important.” Her lip quivered and she blinked back tears from her eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

Fareeha was quiet for a moment then pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I should have done more research. When I called my mom about it, and she mentioned the candle, I assumed you would know what it was for,” she said calmly. “I only looked up its name so I wouldn’t sound stupid. I mean, that’s probably more than a lot of other people would have been willing to do to help their Jewish friend, but I should have looked up more about it. I’m sorry. We can learn this together, don’t worry.”

“Why do you care?” Angela asked before she could stop herself. _Schisse! Now she’s going to think I’m mad at her._ She blinked back tears again, still?, and looked down ashamed for questioning it. What gave her the right to question someone who was trying to help when she’d dedicated her whole life to helping people?

Fareeha was silent for a moment, scrolling through something on her phone screen. “Because you matter, Angela,” was the simple but assured response.

Angela stared at Fareeha, but her eyes weren’t focused. She wasn’t sure she liked that answer. Absentmindedly, she started flaking the wax off her hands. It didn’t hurt all that much after the fact, and it gave her something to do other than stew in her thoughts. She… did she matter? Sure she’d saved a lot of lives, but there’d been so many many others that she hadn’t been able to save. It wasn’t right. She didn’t deserve to be cared about when so many lives were lost under her care.

She stood up carefully, so she wouldn’t knock anything over and headed over to the sink at the other side of her office where the patient treatment area was. She looked at herself in the mirror as she flaked the rest of the wax off her hands. She looked dreadful, her eyes red and puffy, her hair a mess as well, but the worst thing was her lip. There was blood dribbling down her chin quite steadily from the split she’d somehow managed to create at the lower left corner of her lip. She’d always known her canines were sharp but she’d never realized they were _that_ sharp. No wonder Fareeha was concerned.

She turned on the water and let it run over her hands for a moment, they didn’t seem to be burned at all, just irritated. That made things a lot easier, she could use her hands and clean up her split lip without help. Not that she didn’t want help, but she’d feel better doing this alone.

She gathered up the supplies she’d need to treat the wound: some cotton pads, antiseptic wipes and wash, gauze, and medical tape. It was highly likely that she would need at least one stitch, but she honestly didn’t really care. One stitch wouldn’t do much except allow it to heal faster and with marginally less scarring, but since the split was so small, she didn’t see a reason to care about whether or not it scarred.

She pressed one of the cotton pads to her mouth and glared at herself in the mirror. _Fine mess you’re in. You barely even know Fareeha, but she’s seen you cry, seen you panic, and seen you accidentally injure yourself. Now what? She’s over there learning about Jewish bereavement traditions for you, and you’re here tending to the wound you gave yourself. Are you proud? Could you be any more useless?_ Angela sighed slightly as she pulled the cotton pad away to check if she’d stopped the bleeding then when she was sure that she had, she cleaned the split first with an antiseptic wipe and then the wash. After she cleaned it, she put the guaze over it and fixed it in place with some medical tape on the outside and just sort of held it in place with her teeth on the inside.

“I know what went wrong,” Fareeha said from the couch.

_Why doesn’t she just come over here?_

“I had assumed that because candles are normally held in other kinds of memorials that you holding the candle was correct,” Fareeha continued. “But that’s not how this works. These candles are lit for a whole day. Twenty-four hours starting at sundown.”

“Traditionally, our days began with the setting of the sun, not the rising of it,” Angela said, carefully because of her mouth. “I might have forgotten a lot of things, but that I remember.”

“We need something to set the candle in,” Fareeha said. “I’ll be right back.”

Angela nodded absentmindedly and cleaned up the minor mess that she had made at the sink. She was alone at least until Fareeha came back and this gave her a bit of time to consider everything. She missed her parents, that she understood. She could still remember the days they died. She cried, but what was she crying for? Her parents were long dead, and most everyone she knew was some form of alive. Even herself, as much as she believed she didn’t deserve that. Had she earned the right to be alive, to be with Overwatch, to help people, when there were so many she couldn’t save, so many who got hurt or killed on the battlefield to make sure she could live to help more people? It wasn’t.

When the sink was clean she walked back over to the couch and took stock of the situation there. The candle was lying on the lid of the pizza box sadly. Angela sighed, the pizza sat there looking rather pathetic—she had only eaten two and a half slices of it. Her appetite was gone though, so she simply cleaned off the candle and wax from the box before closing it and setting it aside. She sat back down on the couch.

“ _Mueti, es duet mr leid_ ,” she said quietly. “ _Kannst du mir bitte verzeihen_?” She knew that no one would answer her, and perhaps that was why she asked. It was easier to ask her parents than to beg forgiveness from a god she wasn’t sure she was allowed to talk to, or even knew how to talk to. Her parents would never answer, but God might, and she wasn’t ready to have an answer.

It wasn’t long before Fareeha returned with a glass jar that had a different bigger white candle in it.

“Where are you getting these candles from?” Angela asked absentmindedly. Was there a secret stash of candles that she didn’t know about?

“My room,” Fareeha replied.

So, it would appear that there _was_ a secret stash of candles that she didn’t know about before.

“There is a lot of tradition tied to yahrzeit,” Fareeha said. “From what I understand there’s prayers and optional fasting.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten the pizza. “I wonder if those prayers are somewhere in the Torah.” She still had her mom’s Torah, she’d never learned to read it herself because she didn’t have a teacher after her mom died and her mom’s Torah was in Hebrew, but she did still have it, and she could probably find someone who would read it to or for her. Sometimes, when she pulled it out and _tried_ to read it she could hear her parents’ voices again, reading passages to her as part of their daily routine and holiday traditions.

“Are you ready to try again?” Fareeha asked quietly, patiently. She was always so calm and sure of herself. So steady. Angela was rather jealous if she had to admit it.

Angela nodded slightly. “I think so. I’m sure Mueti would forgive me for not doing the prayers.” She wasn’t sure at all, but she’d try anyway.


	2. Fareeha: Hallucinations

Fareeha sat on the floor of the dropship with a rag and the Raptora. They had returned to Gibraltar hours ago and everyone else, including the pilot, had already left to do other things. _Pharah would have joined them,_ she thought bitterly _. Pharah wouldn’t need to worry about how the Raptora looks_. She furrowed her brow in concentration as she polished away the layers of dirt and mud from the crash she’d had, trying to check for signs of damage and wondering what had really caused the crash.

There didn’t seem to be any outward signs of damage to the Raptora that could have resulted in a crash, at least not on the front. There were some dents and scratches but those were more likely from the crash itself. This would suggest that the crash was either mechanical failure or user error. _Pharah doesn’t make errors._ Fareeha sighed slightly as she stood up and moved around behind the Raptora to clean the jets. The layers of dirt and mud fell away rather quickly and Fareeha vaguely regretted not having a bucket or something to catch the mud as it was mostly all just falling on her.

Somewhere to the left of her, something made a noise, and Fareeha froze mid-swipe. _What was that_? After a moment of waiting to hear if there would be another sound, but none coming, she went back to working at the mud, still on edge. _Nothing will surprise me_. A few tense moments later, the sound returned and Fareeha spun around quickly, brandishing the muddy rag like a weapon. Again the sound stopped. She furrowed her brow and looked around. There wasn’t anything that would be making noise that she could see. _Am I hearing things?_ She shook her head slightly. An Amari doesn’t ‘hear things.’

She took a few deep breaths and sighed slightly before turning back to the Raptora. There was a small crack in the left jet. It was unclear whether that had caused the crash or was a result of the crash. She ran her hand along the crack and then pulled it back quickly with a sharp hiss of pain escaping between her teeth when a small, but sharp, piece of metal protruding from the crack sliced into her palm. “Fuck.”

The sound returned louder than before. Footsteps. She could hear them clearly now. _Shit, who?_

“Fareeha?” the voice was soft and sweet, and questioning. It sounded like Dr. Ziegler, but at the same time it sounded not at all like her. The doctor shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t. _No._ Was she?

Fareeha bit her lip and stared at the blood running down her arm. _Wrong. Bad._ It wasn’t right. An Amari would have been more careful. _Pharah would have been more careful._ A hand touched her and instinctively she jerked away, backing against the wall of the dropship.

“Fareeha, relax,” the voice said. “Look at me. I’m real. I am here.”

Fareeha sucked in a breath and forced herself to look away from the cut. _I’m real. I’m here._ She caught sight of someone standing to her right, but also a flash of someone or something to her left. She wasn’t entirely sure which one to focus on, so she looked at the person on her right since her injured hand was her right. Dr. Ziegler, or something that very much looked like Dr. Ziegler, was standing there. She furrowed her brow slightly as she looked at this Maybe-Doctor. If she concentrated really hard, she thought she could actually feel their hand on her arm.

“It’s going to be alright,” the Maybe-Doctor told her. “You’re going to be okay.”

Fareeha frowned, unsure of how true those words were and if she could even trust this thing that might not even be the doctor. The thing to her left, a looming shadowy thing, moved again but she continued simply staring at the Maybe-Doctor trying to determine the realness of her. Maybe if she ignored the thing to her left long enough, it would just go away, and she’d be left with only what was really real.

“The cut isn’t very deep,” the Maybe-Doctor said. “How did you get it?”

Fareeha sucked in a breath and motioned vaguely toward the Raptora. There was blood on the crack now, from where she’d sliced her hand on it. It gave the eerily creepy impression that the Raptora itself was bleeding. She shivered slightly, this whole damn thing felt like some kind of horror movie. She was alone, maybe. It was dark. There was _something_ to her left, she could see it out of the corner of her eye. _Pharah wouldn’t be afraid._ But damn, Fareeha was terrified.

“Fareeha,” the Maybe-Doctor said, too gently for something that wasn’t real. “Where are you?”

Fareeha blinked and took a breath. She was shaking slightly, but this gave her something to focus on that wasn’t the thing to her left. “Gibraltar?” She hoped, at least, that she was still in Gibraltar.

“Good,” the Maybe-Doctor replied. “Do you know who I am?”

“You look like Dr. Ziegler,” Fareeha said carefully. Looks can be deceiving, and usually were when she was frightened.

“Do I sound like Dr. Ziegler?” the Maybe-Doctor asked.

“Yes, kind of, but that’s normal. It’s hardly like the not real things would talk in a voice I don’t recognize,” Fareeha replied. “They always sound like people I know. That’s why it’s so hard to tell…” She trailed off for a second, seeing the confused look on the Maybe-Doctor’s face. “You… you didn’t already know about this.”

“You don’t exactly make it obvious that you experience hallucinations, Fareeha,” the Maybe-Doctor replied.

“No, but they usually already know,” Fareeha said. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ziegler.” It must really be the doctor. No hallucination, no not real thing, had ever sounded like that. The concern was sharp, like the metal that sliced into her palm had been. Sharp, and professional, but maybe something a little more, too. No hallucination would worry like that. Only Dr. Ziegler would.

“There is nothing to apologize about Fareeha,” Dr. Ziegler replied. “How long have you had these hallucinations?”

“I… don’t know,” Fareeha replied. She looked down, at her hand, slightly surprised to see that Dr. Ziegler was pressing a cotton pad against it.

“Are they scary?” Dr. Ziegler asked.

“They can be,” Fareeha said. “I shouldn’t be scared of them, I’m used to it. They don’t hurt me. They want to hurt me, to hurt people, but they don’t hurt me.”

“Do you want me to help you?” Dr. Ziegler asked. “Would it help you to understand what is and is not real right now?”

“Usually I just ignore it until it goes away,” Fareeha said. “It’s… probably not the right way to deal with it. I don’t know how else to deal with it. Some of the other soldiers in my unit had dealt with the same thing. Most of them ended up with a medical discharge. Most of them heard voices, I think I’m the only one who also saw things. At least things… that were clearly not real.”

Dr. Ziegler nodded slightly. Like she was considering that information and processing it into something she could help with. “You knew what it looked like when I… panicked a few weeks ago. Can I ask, do you get… do you get those?”

“I do,” Fareeha said. “I’m not so in myself that I think that _everyone_ does. But, yes, I do. Loud noises, hearing things that aren’t there, getting shot out of the fucking sky… some things are worse than others, and I remember. _Pharah_ wouldn’t have this problem. _Fareeha_ does. It’s stupid.”

“Why wouldn’t Pharah have this problem?” Dr. Ziegler mused.

“Because Pharah is better than I am. Pharah is… Pharah is control, is justice, is everything right, is unwavering, is strong. I’m… really not,” Fareeha replied.

Dr. Ziegler looked up at Fareeha for a moment and said, “You are strong, Fareeha, stronger than you think.”

Fareeha shook her head. “I _really_ am not, Dr. Ziegler. I’m the weakest Amari.”

“Fareeha,” Dr. Ziegler said, her tone gentle but warning, “You are not weak. You are strong. Many other people would go through what you’ve been through, and fall. It would break lesser people.”

“Maybe it already broke me,” Fareeha replied.

“Do you ever wish you were dead?” Dr. Ziegler asked.

“Yes… but I won’t. If _Fareeha_ dies, so does _Pharah._ Pharah has a duty. Pharah has to protect people, protect the weak, and the innocent… protect you. And even if I do wish I were dead, I can’t let Pharah die. I can’t let her position be empty. People need her. You need her.”

“Then you’re strong. You’re not broken,” Dr. Ziegler said. “You’re still here, that’s stronger than a lot of people give credit for.” She bit her lip and looked down slightly before asking. “Have you ever tried?”

“To die? No, there are times that maybe I was a bit more careless than I should have been, but I have not _tried_ to die.”

Dr. Ziegler nodded. “Then you’re already doing better than I am.”

“Dr. Ziegler,” Fareeha said quietly. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard Angela say something like that, and it wasn’t the first time she replied with, “For whatever it’s worth, I think you’re really strong.”

“I appreciate that, Fareeha, but I’m not sure that it’s anywhere near true,” Dr. Ziegler replied.

Fareeha shook her head and said, quietly but with passion, “You _are_ strong. Angela, you’re stronger than anyone. You’re still here. That takes a special kind of strength. You’ve _tried_ not being here, but you still are, that’s stronger than anyone gives credit for. Angela, thank you for being so strong.”

Dr. Ziegler smiled slightly. “You called me Angela.”

“Do you want me to—“

“Call me it again, please?” Angela interrupted, as though she hated the thought of being Fareeha thinking she didn’t want to be called her own name.

“Angela,” Fareeha said.

Angela smiled more. She was like a little puppy when she wanted to be.

Fareeha made no claims to understand how the doctor worked, but somehow, her smile helped. “Angela, will you stay?”

“I won’t leave you,” Angela replied. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

Fareeha took a deep breath then said, quietly, “Am I real? Am I really here?”

“You are,” Angela replied firmly. “You are real, and you are really here.” She lifted Fareeha’s hand up to her mouth and placed a gentle kiss on top of the bandage that Fareeha hadn’t even noticed that she put on there. “And I am here to help you.”

“But are you really here?” Fareeha replied.

“I am,” Angela replied. “I am really here.”

“Do you know what caused the crash?” Fareeha asked.

Angela walked over to the Raptora.

Fareeha followed close behind her, unwilling to be alone, even if it was only a couple meters that separated them. Fareeha watched as Angela examined the Raptora with the same surgical precision that she examined all of her patients.

“It appears that you got shot down,” she stated, pointing at a small bullet lodged just inside the crack on the Raptora’s jet. “Did you hear anything unusual before the crash?”

“Nothing,” Fareeha replied. “I mean, I heard gunshots, but there was _a lot_ of fighting going on. They could have been from anywhere.”

“Do you hear anything unusual now?” Angela asked.

“Now? No, but I did earlier, there was this… noise? Kind of like footsteps and a shuffling slidey sound?” Fareeha replied.

“That… might have been me,” Angela said. “I was restocking the spare medical supplies on the other side of the wall.” She pointed toward the wall that Fareeha had heard the noises coming from earlier. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here until you made a sound.”

“We seem to have a knack for finding each other when one of us is hurt,” Fareeha noted.

“Do you _see_ anything unusual?” Angela asked, seeming to ignore Fareeha’s comment, but Fareeha saw her nod slightly in acknowledgement of it.

“I didn’t want to mention it, because mentioning it just makes it stronger,” Fareeha replied quietly.

“Does it help to keep looking at me?” Angela asked. “Would it help to go somewhere brighter, that you’re more comfortable?”

“Maybe,” Fareeha replied. “But I need to clean the Raptora while the mud is still wet.”

“The mud will still come off when it’s dry,” Angela said. “Fareeha, you’re more important right now. Making sure you’re safe is the top priority.”

“The structure, safety, and maintenance of the Raptora takes priority over everything about me,” Fareeha replied.

“As your doctor, and your friend, I am calling bullshit on that,” Angela replied. “Now, come with me, to the kitchen. You need to eat, and _I_ need to eat. We can eat together with all the lights on.”

“What like a date?” Fareeha joked quietly, but she stepped closer to Angela and motioned toward the dropship’s exit. Arguing with the doctor was pointless, even as scared as she was of that thing that was still haunting the edge of her peripheral vison. It was still there, she made no mistake about that even as she also made no attempt to confirm that the validity of that statement.

“Like _friends_ , Fareeha,” Angela replied.

“Of course,” Fareeha said. “I was only joking.” She tried very hard to hide the disappointment on her voice, because she wasn’t entirely sure what she was disappointed about. Of course, Angela hadn’t meant it like a date. Why would she? It wasn’t like they knew each other very well. They’d had some conversations, sure, but then… the doctor talked to _everyone_ in Overwatch, didn’t she? Why should Fareeha be special? Fareeha was just… just Fareeha.

“Fareeha,” Angela said gently. “It’s okay, I appreciated the question. I just think… we should… maybe…” Angela sighed deeply then said, “I think we should get to know each other more first, and maybe find a time when neither of us are having a bad time before we even consider actually having a date.” She turned her head away for a second and took a couple breaths.

Fareeha blinked. _She likes me_.

“Fareeha, are we friends?” Angela asked.

“If you want to be, I would be honored to be your friend,” Fareeha replied.

Angela nodded and smiled slightly. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Does what hurt?” Fareeha replied.

“Your hand, or really anything,” Angela said.

Fareeha considered that. Her hand did hurt, but Angela had done a really good job of patching it up, it was barely noticeable. “Only a little.”

“I can get you something for the pain if you’d like,” Angela offered.

“I’m not sure what you have that would help,” Fareeha replied quietly.

Angela started to step around to the left of Fareeha, probably to lead her out of the dropship.

Fareeha stopped her quickly by putting her hands on her shoulder, wincing slightly at the pain that shot through her right arm when she did so. “No, don’t. It’ll hurt you.” The shadowy thing grinned at the edge of her vision.

Angela stopped immediately. “What will hurt me, Fareeha?”

“ _It_ ,” Fareeha said. Words to describe whatever _it_ really was escaped her. What if Angela thought she was crazy?

“I don’t see anything here except us, Fareeha,” Angela replied. “Can you take a picture of it for me? My night vision isn’t very good, it would help to see it on a lighted screen.”

Fareeha nodded and fished her phone out of her pocket. She took a deep breath to steady herself. It wouldn’t do any good to take a blurry picture of it. She quickly snapped to pictures, one with flash and one without. Then turned the phone to Angela to show her what was in the pictures.

“There’s nothing there, Fareeha,” Angela said gently. “Look.”

Fareeha shakily took a small step forward and looked down at her phone. She closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head, then opened them and took another look. Angela was _right._ There wasn’t anything there. It wasn’t real. It’s not real “It’s gone. I… was it ever even there? I don’t know, it might have left. But it wanted to hurt you. It wants to hurt you, I won’t let it. Can… can we just go somewhere else? _Please?_ ”

“Of course, Fareeha,” Angela said. She motioned toward the door of the dropship and started walking towards it slowly. “Why don’t you tell me what you might want to eat?”

“I could probably make something really nice if you’d like to try my cooking,” Fareeha replied. “Or there might still be some pizza, Lena had said something about it earlier.”

“Would that help?” Angela asked.

“It would help if you held my hand, please? So I can be really sure that you’re actually here?” Fareeha asked quietly.

“You could take a picture,” Angela joked taking Fareeha’s uninjured hand anyway. “It lasts longer.”

“Can you?” Fareeha replied. “Would you? You still have my phone.”

Angela nodded. She opened the camera app, and put it in selfie mode. “It’s my professional opinion that you should smile, Fareeha.”

Fareeha smiled as Angela leaned against her arm and took a selfie of them. When she was done, Angela held up the phone, with the picture on its screen to show her. Fareeha sucked in a breath. “You’re so beautiful, even in the dark.”

Angela looked away mumbling something as she locked the phone and slipped it back into Fareeha’s pocket.

“Thank you, Angela,” Fareeha said quietly. “For doing that.”

“You’re welcome, Fareeha,” Angela replied. “I’d love to try your cooking if you were serious about offering.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to support me, kudos, comments, and/or donations to my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/amaranthking) are all super appreciated.


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